head emphatically. "I'm not Jay Allison; I don't want hisname or his reputation. Unless there are men on the crew who knowAllison by sight--"
"Some of them do, but I don't think they'd recognize you."
"Tell them I'm his twin brother," I said humorlessly.
"That wouldn't be necessary. There's not enough resemblance." Forthraised his head and beckoned to a man who was doing something near the'copter. He said under his breath, "You'll see what I mean," as the manapproached.
He wore the uniform of Spaceforce--black leather with a little rainbowof stars on his sleeve meaning he'd seen service on a dozen differentplanets, a different colored star for each one. He wasn't a young man,but on the wrong side of fifty, seamed and burly and huge, with a splitlip and weathered face. I liked his looks. We shook hands and Forthsaid, "This is our man, Kendricks. He's called Jason, and he's an experton the trailmen. Jason, this is Buck Kendricks."
"Glad to know you, Jason." I thought Kendricks looked at me half asecond more than necessary. "The 'copter's ready. Climb in, Doc--you'regoing as far as Carthon, aren't you?"
We put on zippered windbreaks and the 'copter soared noiselessly intothe pale crimson sky. I sat beside Forth, looking down through palelilac clouds at the pattern of Darkover spread below me.
"Kendricks was giving me a funny eye, Doc. What's biting him?"
"He has known Jay Allison for eight years," Forth said quietly, "and hehasn't recognized you yet."
But we let it ride at that, to my great relief, and didn't talk any moreabout me at all. As we flew under silent whirring blades, turning ourbacks on the settled country which lay near the Trade City, we talkedabout Darkover itself. Forth told me about the trailmen's fever andmanaged to give me some idea about what the blood fraction was, and whyit was necessary to persuade fifty or sixty of the humanoids to returnwith me, to donate blood from which the antibody could be, firstisolated, then synthesised.
It would be a totally unheard-of thing, if I could accomplish it. Mostof the trailmen never touched ground in their entire lives, except whencrossing the passes above the snow line. Not a dozen of them, includingmy foster-parents who had so painfully brought me out across Dammerung,had ever crossed the ring of encircling mountains that walled them awayfrom the rest of the planet. Humans sometimes penetrated the lowerforests in search of the trailmen. It was one-way traffic. The trailmennever came in search of _them_.
* * * * *
We talked, too, about some of those humans who had crossed the mountainsinto trailmen country--those mountains profanely dubbed the Hellers bythe first Terrans who had tried to fly over them in anything lower orslower than a spaceship. (The Darkovan name for the Hellers was evenmore explicit, and even in translation, unrepeatable.)
"What about this crew you picked? They're not Terrans?"
Forth shook his head. "It would be murder to send anyone recognizablyTerran into the Hellers. You know how the trailmen feel about outsidersgetting into their country." I knew. Forth continued, "Just the same,there will be two Terrans with you."
"They don't know Jay Allison?" I didn't want to be burdened withanyone--not anyone--who would know me, or expect me to behave like myforgotten other self.
"Kendricks knows you," Forth said, "but I'm going to be perfectlytruthful. I never knew Jay Allison well, except in line of work. I knowa lot of things--from the past couple of days--which came out duringthe hypnotic sessions, which he'd never have dreamed of telling me, oranyone else, consciously. And that comes under the heading of aprofessional confidence--even from you. And for that reason, I'm sendingKendricks along--and you're going to have to take the chance he'llrecognize you. Isn't that Carthon down there?"
* * * * *
Carthon lay nestled under the outlying foothills of the Hellers, ancientand sprawling and squatty, and burned brown with the dust of fivethousand years. Children ran out to stare at the 'copter as we landednear the city; few planes ever flew low enough to be seen, this near theHellers.
Forth had sent his crew ahead and parked them in an abandoned huge placeat the edge of the city which might once have been a warehouse or aruined palace. Inside there were a couple of trucks, stripped down toframework and flatbed like all machinery shipped through space fromTerra. There were pack animals, dark shapes in the gloom. Crates werestacked up in an orderly untidiness, and at the far end a fire wasburning and five or six men in Darkovan clothing--loose sleeved shirts,tight wrapped breeches, low boots--were squatting around it, talking.They got up as Forth and Kendricks and I walked toward them, and Forthgreeted them clumsily, in bad accented Darkovan, then switched to TerranStandard, letting one of the men translate for him.
Forth introduced me simply as "Jason," after the Darkovan custom, and Ilooked the men over, one by one. Back when I'd climbed for fun, I'dliked to pick my own men; but whoever had picked this crew must haveknown his business.
Three were mountain Darkovans, lean swart men enough alike to bebrothers; I learned after a while that they actually were brothers,Hjalmar, Garin and Vardo. All three were well over six feet, and Hjalmarstood head and shoulders over his brothers, whom I never learned to tellapart. The fourth man, a redhead, was dressed rather better than theothers and introduced as Lerrys Ridenow--the double name indicating highDarkovan aristocracy. He looked muscular and agile enough, but his handswere suspiciously well-kept for a mountain man, and I wondered how muchexperience he'd had.
The fifth man shook hands with me, speaking to Kendricks and Forth as ifthey were old friends. "Don't I know you from someplace, Jason?"
He looked Darkovan, and wore Darkovan clothes, but Forth had forewarnedme, and attack seemed the best defense. "Aren't you Terran?"
"My father was," he said, and I understood; a situation not exactlyuncommon, but ticklish on a planet like Darkover. I said carelessly, "Imay have seen you around the HQ. I can't place you, though."
"My name's Rafe Scott. I thought I knew most of the professional guideson Darkover, but I admit I don't get into the Hellers much," heconfessed. "Which route are we going to take?"
I found myself drawn into the middle of the group of men, accepting oneof the small sweetish Darkovan cigarettes, looking over the plansomebody had scribbled down on the top of a packing case. I borrowed apencil from Rafe and bent over the case, sketching out a rough map ofthe terrain I remembered so well from boyhood. I might be bewilderedabout blood fractions, but when it came to climbing I knew what I wasdoing. Rafe and Lerrys and the Darkovan brothers crowded behind me tolook over the sketch, and Lerrys put a long fingernail on the route I'dindicated.
"Your elevation's pretty bad here," he said diffidently, "and on the'Narr campaign the trailmen attacked us here, and it was bad fightingalong those ledges."
I looked at him with new respect; dainty hands or not, he evidently knewthe country. Kendricks patted the blaster on his hip and said grimly,"But this isn't the 'Narr campaign. I'd like to see any trailmen attackus while I have this."
"But you're not going to have it," said a voice behind us, a crispauthoritative voice. "Take off that gun, man!"
Kendricks and I whirled together, to see the speaker; a tall youngDarkovan, still standing in the shadows. The newcomer spoke to medirectly:
"I'm told you are Terran, but that you understand the trailmen. Surelyyou don't intend to carry fission or fusion weapons against them?"
And I suddenly realized that we were in Darkovan territory now, and thatwe must reckon with the Darkovan horror of guns or of any weapon whichreaches beyond the arm's-length of the man who wields it. A simpleheat-gun, to the Darkovan ethical code, is as reprehensible as asuper-cobalt planetbuster.
Kendricks protested, "We can't travel unarmed through trailmen country!We're apt to meet hostile bands of the creatures--and they're nasty withthose long knives they carry!"
The stranger said calmly, "I've no objection to you, or anyone else,carrying a knife for self-defense."
"A _knife_?" Kendricks dre
w breath to roar. "Listen, you bug-eyedson-of-a--who do you think you are, anyway?"
The Darkovans muttered. The man in the shadows said, "Regis Hastur."
* * * * *
Kendricks stared pop-eyed. My own eyes could have popped, but I decidedit was time for me to take charge, if I were ever going to. I rapped,"All right, this is my show. Buck, give me the gun."
He looked wrathfully at me for a space of seconds, while I wondered whatI'd do if he didn't. Then, slowly, he unbuckled the straps
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